


You and me, baby brother

by Impala_Cherry_Trickster



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherly Love, Dean's a good big brother, Doesn't Have to Be, Drugs, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Gabriel, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, Wincest if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 17:52:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19835464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impala_Cherry_Trickster/pseuds/Impala_Cherry_Trickster
Summary: Sam doesn't know if he can deal with it anymore, but at least he has the sense to call Dean.





	You and me, baby brother

**Author's Note:**

> Warning, this does contain graphic suicide attempt! 
> 
> Enjoy, don't forgot to leave Kudos and Comments!

Sam didn’t know what to do. Logically, the thing his brain was telling him to do was wrong. He knew that. But Sam didn’t quite know if he was strong enough to go against the urge. It made his heart clench, staring down at the cuts on his wrist. They were horizontal, meant only to try and dull the ache in his mind, but it hadn't sated the urge.

Dean was out, at a bar with Cas, Gabe and Jack. Sam stared at his phone, wondering if his brother would come if he called. Blood dribbled down his pale skin, and he was sure he shouldn’t be so pale, maybe he had cut deeper than he wanted to. Or not deep enough, depending on what part of his brain had control. He looked to the knife, then to the gun on his desk. Maybe it was worse than he thought.

It should have been fine. They were safe, Lucifer was dead, Mom was alive. But that was the issue, Lucifer was dead. The thing that had haunted him every night for so many years, was gone. Sam couldn’t believe it, couldn’t understand. Everyone had moved on, but Sam was still stuck remembering how the Devil’s fingers felt brushing over his skin. Freezing cold, always so cold, and Sam wrapped himself in more blankets.

He didn’t realise that the knife was back in hand, didn’t realise until his head spun and the blood was dribbling onto the floor. It pooled, a dark red, and Sam stared at it for slightly longer than he would have liked. Eventually, his hand reached out for the phone, red fingers closing around it. He blindly dialled, it would be one of the people that could help, and he pulled it to his ear.

‘Sammy?’ Ah, so even in his blurry haze, he had managed to call his brother. He thought that should be a sign, they were so closely entwined that his brother knew something was wrong. It was like Dean was attuned to Sam’s moods.

‘D’you think you could come home?’ Sam had made two mistakes. One, slurring the sentence because of the blood loss affecting his brain. Two, calling the Bunker home. He heard Dean’s intake of breath, knew his brother had picked up on it.

‘I’m coming back, Sammy, stay on the phone with me. What’s wrong?’ Sam’s mind, however, was not cooperating. The phone slipped from his grasp, hitting the floor and turning black. His head hurt, arms hurt worse, and Sam looked to the drawer by his bedside. Inside was the medication he had been taking ever since being hospitalised, and if he took enough…

He shook them out, not bothering to count how many as he put them in his mouth, swallowing them down with a glass of water by his bedside. His hands shook, body hurting as he fell off the bed, onto the bloody floor. This wasn’t really how he wanted things to end, he had planned this so many times, and it was always far away from his brother. When Sam had first let Lucifer out of the Cage, when Dean had told him to pick a Hemisphere, it had happened.

He had shot himself the first time. Put a gun in his mouth, tipped it up, tightened his finger around the trigger and blew his brains out. The second time, he had hung himself. That had been bad when he had woken up, dying from a lack of oxygen. Eventually, the rope broke, after death number six. Sam had never told Dean this, didn’t want his brother to stare at him funny. Seven deaths, and Sam was now on his eighth.

It felt better, now. The pain was ebbing away, and Sam was sure he could hear the fireworks from that memorable 4th of July celebration. It made him smile, settle on the floor and curl up, remembering Dean’s warm smile and his deep laugh and how happy he had been. And Sam, Chuck knows how happy he had been. It had been the best feeling in the world, just him and his brother. Without anything to worry about, no apocalypse, Demons, Angels, Hell and the Cage, the Darkness and God. None of that.

Hands clasped around his wrists, bringing back the pain he had tried to lose. He wasn’t sure what was happening, but the dark sky lit up by fireworks faded, Dean’s face appearing in view. It wasn’t the young, boyish face of a teenage Dean, no. This was the thirty-eight-year-old Dean, green eyes angry and worried. Sam was hauled up, and his wrists really hurt. He was hauled along the floor, not cold and damp like the grass had been that night, but smooth against his skin.

His mouth was opened, fingers shoved down to the back of his throat. Sam couldn’t help but retch, felt his stomach protest at the intrusion. Dean was saying something, not to Sam but to someone else who was in the room. Bathroom, Sam’s mind provided. Dean manoeuvred him to the toilet in time for his stomach to throw up the tablets he had taken. Sam wanted to protest, to explain that he wanted the pills to numb the pain in his wrists.

His arms were being handled, turned up to the cuts on them. An old smell filled his mind, of books and freshly cut grass, and Sam realised it was Castiel. The Angel was by his side, fingers moving to the cuts on his arms. He watched them start to heal, started thrashing to try and stop it. He didn’t want them to heal. He didn’t want them to save him.

‘Easy, Sammy. Stay still.’ Sam stopped struggling, let his head fall back against a firm shoulder. Someone else came, a warm flannel wiping down his face. He appreciated it, he really did, but his stomach felt like Hell itself. With the pain grounding him, Sam could forget about Lucifer and the hands ghosting his stomach, moving south.

‘Wanted it t’work this time.’ Sam slurred lazily, hands grabbing at his brother’s shirt to ground him. He needed something, anything, but he didn’t know what. His brother was speaking, soft words that were hushed, and Sam couldn’t hear them. The tone, that was enough to make him relax back. Yet again, more Grace covered his body, but this was stronger. It wasn’t Castiel healing him, not anymore, and Sam felt his body begin to panic.

‘Sammoose, it’s me.’ Ah, Gabriel. He forgot about him, the other Archangel that Sam knew, the good one. He vaguely nodded, trying to get out the words “Thank you” but it probably sounded more like an odd garbled sound. As he felt his stomach settle, the drowsiness that had taken over leave his body, Sam felt the guilt. It came quickly, weighing enough that he physically slumped.

‘How many did you take, Samalam?’ Gabriel inquired, hand moving to his stomach. In the back of Sam’s mind, the hands were colder, more harsh, but he shoved it down.

‘The whole pot.’ He admitted, voice slightly clearer. The Archangel pushed slightly more Grace in, and Sam allowed his body to relax against Dean. His brother. Oh, Sam turned his head to look at Dean, who was staring back with an unreadable expression. He wanted to say something, to apologise, but he didn’t know how.

‘C’mon, kid, let’s get you to bed.’ Dean stated bluntly, helping Sam up. The younger didn’t fight, ignored the looks of the Angels as he followed Dean. Jack was in the corridor, but even he didn’t speak as Sam was led to Dean’s room. Sam wasn’t sure why, but he wasn’t going to argue, following his brother in. It was then that he remembered that he’d messed his room up.

‘I’m sorry, Dean.’ Sam stated, and found it was honest. He was sorry that Dean had to deal with him like that.

‘How many times, Sammy?’ His brother asked, sitting down and looking at his hands. Sam stood awkwardly by the now-closed door, not sure if his brother wanted him to join him on the bed.

‘Uh, that was the eighth time. I succeeded the other seven.’ Dean’s head shot up, eyes red-rimmed and dangerously close to spilling tears. Sam took a step forwards, instinctively drawn towards his brother. His brother, who he needed. Needed him more than anything.

‘Lucifer brought you back?’ He asked, and Sam nodded, before his brother stood.

‘Come here, little brother.’ He offered out his arms, and Sam fell into them. He was sobbing before the hands reached his back, and Dean pulled him down onto the bed. He was crying as well, silently as Sam clung to his brother for dear life.

‘That’s it Sammy, I’ve got you now. Never going to leave you, baby boy.’ It was a silent promise, one that Sam knew he would keep. He pushed closer, nuzzling the skin of his brother’s jaw, the stubble scraping his skin.

‘Love you De, m’so sorry. So sorry.’ He wanted Dean to believe him, needed him to. Dean pulled back, cupped his cheek softly and looked down at him.

‘I know, Sammy. I know, I’m not going anywhere. You and me, baby brother, against the world.’


End file.
